10 Signs of Unrequited Love
by Guardian Izz
Summary: It dawned upon him subtly really. In fact, he still wasn't quite sure what it was, exactly... Missing Arthur and Guinevere moments, btw 1x13 & 2x02.
1. Chapter 1

**10 SIGNS OF UNREQUITED LOVE**

**1.**

_**Brooding**_

**o0o0o**

**Unrequited love** is love that is not openly reciprocated or understood as such, even though reciprocation is usually deeply desired. The beloved may or may not be aware of the admirer's deep affections.

This kind of love has been the subject of many myths and legends. The person to whom this feeling is directed at may not even be aware that _she _is the object of _someone's_ affection. Most people become aware of the mismatched situation, however when the pining party is the most unlikely individual, who's barely acquainted with the object of his yet subconscious affection, and said object is a humble and shy young woman, used to loyally stay in the shadow of her admired mistress and friend… it is very likely that it all remains quite conundrum.

It dawned upon him subtly really. In fact, he still wasn't sure what _it _was, exactly.

This past year has brought many changes with it. With the arrival of his bumbling idiot servant, who coincidently came to be the prince's most loyal friend (not that Arthur would ever admit _that_ out loud), Arthur's life changed gradually. All of a sudden, the guy with big ridiculous ears and annoying scarves was a constant presence following the Crown Prince everywhere, constantly disobeying orders and messing everything up. Still, every cloud had its silver lining; with Merlin around the old physician didn't look quite as lonely as he did before, and that was a great comfort. Gauis was an old friend of the Pendragon family and served almost as an uncle to the young heir of Camelot's throne.

Furthermore, Arthur realized that he now recognized several servants and guards of the palace; in fact he even remembered some of the stable boys' names – most unsettling it was.

Seeing his manservant befriend Morgana's maid was also quite logical. Arthur never did find out how deeply attached the two were, nowadays their relationship seemed strictly platonic. This revelation came after spending some time with the two in Ealdor, and seeing them interact on their way back to Camelot. What unsettled Arthur was that the revelation itself was followed by a sense of relief on his behalf.

He has of course seen _Guinevere_ strollingaround the castle for the past 10 years or so (him doing most of the actual "strolling"). Looking back, he remembered how his foster sister was introduced to her new servant – Gwen. In the years that followed he had to endure giggling behind corners and two pairs of judgmental eyes watching his every foul move.

Now taking refuge in an alcove in his chambers, with his forehead pressed against rain stained window, Arthur couldn't for the life of him see why his thoughts lately strayed toward the dark-haired maid. He realized that while most servants, such as Anna - lady Esmeralda's maid, and the kitchen staff sought out his attention, Guinevere was more likely shrinking away from him whenever he happened to pass by. She was that shy little figure in cotton dresses, hiding in Morgana's shadow.

In the past he hadn't given it much thought, but lately, ever since his recovery, he became more and more aware of her judgmental looks, humble and graceful movements, and overall reluctance of being in his presence… not that there had been that many occasions, but still.

Outside the courtyard was fairly empty, with servants gathering supplies and covering hay from the rain. After the sunset twilight dawned upon Camelot's walls. The sky was dark and of a bleak blue color, not that one could see anything with the pouring from the clouds. Men and women were hiding behind columns, waiting for a clearing in the clouds to make their way home. And despite the guards' covering the noisy chain of the bridge, everything seemed more peaceful. Sure enough, soon the guards hid in their watchtower and the courtyard seemed empty.

The Prince always loved the rain. Sure it wasn't very practical in battle or while traveling, but when one was in the comfort of one's chambers with a fire keeping you warm, the sound of raindrops hitting, drumming against the window resulted in a harmonious atmosphere. Arthur could see shadows through the windows of the west wing – figures of noblemen, guests of the his father's taking full advantage of the comfortable accommodations offered by the king. Candlelight shone through the coloured glass, dark corridors and grand entrances with wooden doors were lit up by fire-torches.

His solitude was interrupted by Merlin, late as usual, though judging from his soaking wet clothes the raining had played a part in his tardiness _this_ time.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry" his ramblings began as he hazardously collected the plates from table. "Gauis needed help with gathering supplies, and of course it started raining just when Gwen and I found the right meadow…"

Hearing her name caught Arthur's attention, but naturally Merlin chose to remain silent the one time his pointless talking actually sounded interesting. Focused on gathering the plates and cups and dishes all on one huge tray, Merlin forgot what he was talking about. So, when he looked up and saw Arthur looking at him attentively the warlock felt rather confused.

"Yes…"

"…Yes?"

"You were on a meadow…"

"With Gwen, yes?"

Arthur remained silent, waiting for an explanation, or at least pretending to…

"And, then it started raining, we hurried back and I had to help Gauis covering all of his plants…?" Merlin furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, expecting some snappy comment or arrogant insult from his _sort of_ friend (not that he'd ever admit that), but instead Arthur looked disappointed and then passively turned back to the window merely saying: "That will be all. You're free for the evening."

Surprised and somewhat unsettled Merlin hesitated, but decided to give Arthur some space. He knew that Uther tended to be rather demanding and didn't want to deprive the prince of a quiet moment for himself. Besides, he got an evening off!

"Thanks. Have a good night, sire."

The door closed and once again everything turned quiet; only sounds of the fire crackling and spitting sparks from the fireplace broke the silence.

Looking down from the sky Arthur noticed two female figures near the gates, talking while finding refuge from the rain under the castle roof. Both of them had their cloaks on, but Arthur could still distinguish that one of the girls was none other than Guinevere, by the looks of it engaged in some discussion with her friend.

Before he had time to evaluate his actions, the prince found himself pulling on his less than formal cloak heading outside, just in time to sneak past the guards, who were now changing shifts. The hallway along the walls of the castle was lined up with columns, which concealed his presence, and yet despite the raining and the still remaining distance he managed to overhear part of the conversation.

"Uh, well, I am not sure if I am the right person to give advise – "

"But you are the only one I _can_ ask!" The other woman interrupted. "You know how the others are, the gossip will spread before the night is over."

"Right."

"So? If he asks me again, should I submit or hold my guard? I mean I know that he's a knight and I unworthy, and there is nothing but his honor that I can rely on. Yet, I am four and twenty years old and still only had one partner – "

"I! I – um… Agatha, don't you think this is something you ought to ask somebody who is more…. um … experienced in the area?" By the tone of her voice Arthur realized that Guinevere was uncomfortable, and upon discovery of what their subject was it peaked his interest.

"Oh … so, then you haven't – "

"No."

"Not once?"

Gwen shook her head.

"So you're a virg – " Arthur's eyes widened, and he felt a sweat coming on.

"Yes!" Gwen interrupted obviously reluctant to continue discussing the topic. "So I am afraid you'll have to ask someone else."

"Please, who would that be? Marthe? Or one of the kitchen maids? I think we can agree that judging by their past liaisons they are not exactly reliable sources." Gwen looked up confused.

"I'm sorry?"

"You know, his _royal highness_." Arthur froze, closing his eyes.

"Oh. I didn't realize that Marthe…" Gwen shook her head, rather flushed. "Well, then what about Anna? She's married to – " Her eyes widened when she saw the hinting look on Agatha's face.

"Oh she's married alright, though that didn't seem to stop her… or hi - " Agatha broke off her sentence when she recognized the approaching figure.

He was close enough now and just as expected the older girl lowered her head making his presence known: "My lord".

Gwen turned around and curtsied as well.

"Agatha. _Guinevere_." The girls looked up, startled that he addressed them by their given names and mortified, dreading that he had overheard their conversation … which unbeknownst to them he had.

"My lord", Gwen replied.

"I ought to get going. Good night, your highness. Gwen." Before Guinevere had a chance to stop her, Agatha pulled up the hood of her cloak and rushed off leaving her horrified friend alone with the notorious _persona_ they were just discussing.

Silence.

He looked up at the sky and it seemed as if it was raining more than ever, which rather pleased him. Not only did he get to enjoy the fresh scent but also Guinevere's humble presence. Though, somehow he doubted she felt the same considering her recent discovery about his past.

"Lovely night isn't it?"

She jumped, startled by his addressing her directly. At first, she didn't reply and just stared at him. For a moment she felt somewhat dazed upon seeing him with his damp blonde hair, his skin so pale in the chilly air, his eyes crystal clear blue. Gwen shook her head, reminding herself of his past behaviour towards those of her station and smiled reluctantly, nodding in agreement.

While she was looking down Arthur was entranced by the way her wet curls turned into waves – so free and untamed. His hands itched.

She looked up and noticed him staring.

"I – uh…" he mumbled, tearing his eyes away. "I heard you were out with Merlin today."

"Yes, at the Honlow Meadow by the river, my lord."

"Ah!" he almost shouted out, not coping very well with the awkward silence that easily formed between them. "There are … many fine meadows, in Camelot."

Guinevere's eyebrows rose in confusion.

_Dear God she looks at me like I'm an idiot. Which I AM!_

"Indeed." She looked away. "Uh, it looks like the rain is settling down, I ought to get going."

"Isn't it rather dangerous for you to go home alone at this time of night?" Guinevere pulled up the hood of her cloak. She took his breath away. The dark cloak matched the onyx in her eyes and the dark waves of her hair. Her otherwise caramel skin turning rather pale now in the chilly air.

"I usually quit much later, but the lady Morgana retired early and was kind enough to let me off earlier than expected." There it was again. The subtle, but clearly judgmental and apprehensive look in her eyes that always seemed to follow him. He swore that the other day he could feel it during practice… which might have had something to do with his manhandling Merlin. It made him wonder whether or not her little speech about "the man he was inside" was just a figment of his imagination after all...

"Oh." _Oh? What kind of reply is `Oh´ you buffoon?_

"Good evening, my lord."

"Good evening."

And just like that she was gone.

At that moment he felt left behind. She could come and go as she pleased, while he would always be bound to these castle walls and battlefields covered with dead bodies.

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**AN: This ****story takes place between episodes 1x13 and 2x02, because I think we didn't get nearly enough of relationship development before **_**the kiss**_** happened, even though the look on Arthur's face in 2x01 made it pretty clear that he was infatuated.**


	2. Chapter 2

**10 SIGNS OF UNREQUITED LOVE**

**2.**

_**Staring & Nearly Getting Caught**_

**o0o0o**

The feast was in full swing. The ladies on the left side of the table with their spouses across from them. As the king's old friend, General Devón was paying his annual visit to Camelot, Arthur was paying dearly for his usual prattish behaviour by suffering through the annual visit of the general's daughter – the airheaded annoying redhead – Lady Catheline.

_**Why did he hate her company this much?**_

Catheline: So, they have three children?

Right, he replied.

Catheline: How many are boys?

None, he replied.

Catheline: Are there any girls?

The prince stalled in his movements, not swallowing his wine in case his system couldn't take any more toxic…

_**Was that a rhetorical question?**_

This year wasn't any different, except for Merlin's annoying chuckles coming from behind his chair. His servant was getting quite the entertainment, watching his master suffering. The worst part? His father's total ignorance and oblivion to the blatant idiocy of the so-called _lady_.

Then, there was another vital detail that seemed different now and yet remained constant throughout the years. The servants sneaked in and out of the great hall discretely, refilling the cups of the nobles with more wine and ale. One of these servants was Morgana's maid. She, of course, had only Morgana and her mistress's noble lady friends to take care of, however, with Catheline babbling on the entire evening and Lady Marlot's sucking up to the king's ward, Morgana was already on her fifth cup, which unfortunately wasn't enough to knock her out. So Gwen had to make yet another round to the kitchens, leaving his field of vision yet again.

As she made her way back to Morgana's side, Arthur noticed that some of the other servants spread around the room stalled her, exchanging little pleasantries. She was popular, probably due to her amiable nature and reluctance to gossip. A servant boy – his former servant to be more specific – clearly said something flattering to Gwen as she slowed down and threw a smile at him; Arthur felt a nagging voice telling him that she was even more popular with the servants of the opposite sex.

It's interesting how he never seemed to notice these things before. Even more astonishing was how Guinevere and random matters closely related sprang into his mind in unexpected places at times most inconvenient. He didn't know why ever since he witnessed a scarlet flush covering her sun kissed cheeks the day of his recovery his eyes kept straying towards her before he caught himself staring.

Nor did he fail to notice her new lavender gown, with the form-fitting corset that hugged her waist and ribcage, accentuating her breasts. His eyes betrayed him once again, and as she approached the tables he couldn't not appreciate the bow of strings in the middle, loosening and revealing more of the caramel skin, nearly displaying the valley of her…

"Arthur!" the prince snapped out of his daze and looked up at Merlin, who was signalling with his confused eyes (obviously wondering where his masters eyes and thoughts wandered off to) that his attention was required elsewhere.

Oh, great, the twit was speaking to him again: "… saw this beautiful flower and your physician told me it was called myasthenia gravis."

"Did he indeed." Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Indeed, he did." He looked at her. "He also mentioned that it's a herb of sorts and that despite its somewhat toxic scent, it works as a good catalyst for sleeping drafts he gives you and the lady Morgana, among other courtiers."

Guinevere's figure passed behind his chair and he sneaked a peek while she refilled Morgana's goblet and retreated, taking up a place next to Merlin until lady Marlot signalled her for a refill.

"Fascinating, truly."

"Sometimes, I have a problem sleeping. This sleeping draft, does it leave bi-effects on your mind at all?"

"Sometimes my memory."

"And in what ways?"

"I forget." _Hmm, perhaps she was truly interested in herbs … a new hidden side to her…_

"You forget? Can you give an example of something you forgot?" … _perhaps not. _

Merlin, who came closer to refill Arthur's goblet nearly spilled the contents, as he snorted and bit his lips, trying to hold back the laughter rapidly building up throughout the feast.

_**Another classic…**_

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_**AN: Let me know what you think...**_


	3. Chapter 3

**10 SIGNS OF UNREQUITED LOVE**

**3.**

_**Unreasonable Jealousy**_

**o0o0o**

"I hereby declare the council meeting open."

Every year the king of Camelot requested that all his noble subjects joined him in court to discuss the matters of state from economical and political perspectives. Every year the generals and the courtiers came into conflict and then spent five days trying to resolve the issues. This year was no different – the pressing matter concerning everyone, noble and common alike, was the poor seasonal harvest and the approaching winter.

This was also a chance for the king to guide and educate his son and heir in the aforementioned matters of state, hoping that when the day came for Arthur to replace his father he would be ready and have enough experience to know how not to repeat his father's mistakes.

The problem was that today Arthur was nowhere to be in sight.

As the members of council looked over the list of proceedings, Uther approached his son's manservant, the one with big ears, and uttered two words: "Find him."

**o0o0o**

His footsteps could be heard down the hallway as he made his way to the meeting. Arthur had spent the entire night preparing for this morning, trying to make up for the time he had wasted in the past on other _then _more pressing matters – such as training the new recruits, rebuilding and strengthening the citadel walls after the latest attack on the lower town, the list could go on.

Sometimes Arthur questioned his father's responsibilities, seemingly of a lesser amount than his own, as most of the King's time and efforts went to collecting taxes followed by the opposition against magic and promotion thereof. But then the prince remembered that he was a responsibility himself, and thus it was really unfair of the son to judge his father. The king was many things, but _lazy_ was not one of them, and no one could accuse him of such leisure. Just because Uther had retired from the army after over twenty years of military service, it did not mean he was an unworthy leader.

The problem with staying up all night was that no matter how many papers he had gone through and how well he had prepared, the prince was now exhausted. When it was time for dressing and washing up, Arthur barely recognised his reflection in the glass. His face was pale, there were shadows under his eyes, and no matter how hard he tried he could not muster a smile or even a resemblance of a pleasant face. The guards outside his door were the first to witness their prince's _more than usual_ short-tempered mood this morning.

His footsteps could be heard down the hallway as he made his way to the meeting. It was much too early for the noblewomen to be up, but their husbands were up greeting the king's heir as he passed by them in the corridors. No smiles, or nods of politeness were spared on their account as Arthur simply marched on with scrolls of reports pressed under his arm.

Only when he turned the corner of the north wing, did he halt mid-step.

His face remained impassive and yet Arthur felt annoyance and apprehension building up inside. If he had the strength to do so, he would have rolled his eyes, but as it was, he simply could not find the energy to roll his eyeballs.

Approaching him, she finally looked up from the floor and gave him a carefree but shy sort of smile, what he now recognised as a typical one for Guinevere.

"Good morning, my lord", she curtseyed. His annoyance at the slight rise in his heart beating was soon forgotten, and instead Arthur found himself feeling grateful for the quiet and harmonious tone of her voice, soothing his headache. This morning she wore a different dress of a green shade, a colour he usually would associate with Morgana's silk gowns. Hers was different however. Instead of layers upon layers of transparent satins with elaborate golden décor and a piercing green tone, Guinevere's dress was of a simpler cut and made out of simple cotton, the green nuance was toned down and felt rather warm and neutral, reminding Arthur of the leaves during spring – not yet as bright as those of the summer season. There was no gold glittering or jewels lightening up her olive skin this gloomy morning, instead fresh red flowers adorned her dark curls, gathered in a low careless bun, and a simple ribbon hang loosely on her hips gathering the flowing fabric.

Somehow this ordinary green gown matched the grey morning sky and together made a beautiful pairing in perfect harmony.

He must have been staring at her, his face too tired to hide its pensive expression with that of a nonchalant. Thankfully though, the young maid was far too modest to even begin to imagine the prince of Camelot contemplating her pretty features, mistaking his silence and lack of reaction to her greeting as that of a sign of poor health.

Humble Gwen took this quiet moment to inspect the blond nobleman more closely. He did look pale: his skin, his lips… _she blinked away_ … his eyes had no glittering in them, as, she was shamed to admit she noticed, he usually had.

"Are you feeling quite well, my lord?" His eyes were now staring at the worn out bronze coloured ribbon around her hips, and he swayed on his feet. Gwen urgently stepped forward, her free hand ready to catch him if needed.

Arthur noticed her sudden movement and looked up with a slight shake of his head: "Huh?"

"Are you well, sire? You look somewhat pale if I may be so bold to point it out."

Arthur noticed how with her so near his face could suddenly overcome the greatest of obstacles, the prat inside of him, and grant her a slow smile. "Yes, I am quite well, thank you, Guinevere." At such a close proximity he noticed how her hair was a bit damp, probably from the morning dew as she collected herbs that now lay carefully arranged in the basket she was carrying. "Just a sleepless night."

This seemed to put her at ease and she took a step back, nodding. He assumed that she knew something about not being able to sleep because of duties weighing down on your shoulders.

"Of course, you must have had a lot to do preparing for the council today." She gave him an almost grateful smile, as if to thank him for doing his best to look after his people and taking on the burdens that came with the power held by the Pendragon family. She looked down into her basket and chose a rather ripe, red apple, before giving it to him: "Please take a fruit, you need the essentials in it for your health. May hap it will help you to get through the meeting and then, if I may advise you, you ought to rest before the feast this eve, my lord."

_The feast! Oh, he had forgotten. It seemed Morgana's maid was doing a better job at organising him than his own servant, who was paid to follow through unlike her. _

"Thank you." Arthur took the apple, smiling at the sight of a blush spreading on her cheeks as their hands touched for a brief moment.

"It's nothing, my lord. Have a good day." She pulled back, curtseying, and stepped past him, continuing on her way.

When he could see her retreating figure no longer Arthur looked down at the apple in his hand. He did not know why, but he felt warm and at peace now. He knew that for some unknown reason, he would remember this morning for many days to come – this gloomy grey morning, and her pale green gown.

No this wasn't simply an attraction as was the case in the past with other pretty maids. Nor was it a crush like the one he had on that odd visiting lady Sophia, with whom he had, till this day, no idea what happened.

Arthur felt that finally, after so many years under basically the same roof, Morgana's friend was becoming his friend – no longer influenced merely by Morgana's rather _low_ opinion of his merits Guinevere was now making her own judgement of him, and Arthur wasn't sure whether or not that was better. After all, what if she concludes that he's even worse than she thought before.

It was the very fact that he cared so deeply about her opinion of him that convinced the prince, friendship may be, but something else came with it – he only had to put his mind to it and figure out what?

Looking down at the courtyard his good mood shattered like one of the mirrors Morgana once threw at him after his usual fit of teasing. The _friend _occupying his thoughts this morning was met by a fellow servant – his former servant, Gregory – _again_, who it seemed was trying to lessen her own burden and take the fruit-filled basket from her hands. At first Guinevere resisted, shy as usual coming up with excuses, which rather pleased their royal observant, however, it seemed Gregory had acquired quite a strong will during his employment under the prince, and did not take no for an answer.

Green was now the colour he felt most attuned with, and it had nothing to do with her wearing a green dress. Well, perhaps something, he gathered, as he imagined the same blush on her cheeks while her fellow servant complemented Gwen on the new fabric. Of course from such a distance he failed to hear the rather uncomfortable laugh Gwen gave her companion. Arthur didn't see how inside the castle she took her basket back and simply wished Gregory a good day, nor did he see disappointment spread on Gregory's face. If he had, then perhaps he would have remained in a better mood.

But then, the Crown Prince of Camelot was not exactly famous for his patience and subtlety. What he _was _famous for was the way he snapped at his manservant, who just so happened to show up at that precise moment.

"Arthur! What are you doing standing here?"

No reply.

Merlin came closer, noticing the tense stance of his master and the narrowed eye look he gave someone in the courtyard, though the only ones Merlin could see down there were two old women and the butcher making his daily delivery to the royal kitchens.

Merlin's eyebrows fused together in confusion.

"My lor-"

"Is courtship among the staff of the castle common?"

"Ehm, well sometimes."

"Sometimes? What kind of an answer is that?"

"I don't know. Yes, I guess." Merlin replied surprised to see his master now glaring at him. "Arthur-"

"You work for me, and that being so, you will use my proper title, Merlin."

_Oh, great, he was stuck with the prattish Arthur today. _Merlin sighed: "My lord-"

"What!"

"You are late, your father has sent me for you."

"Well then why didn't you say so?" Arthur pushed his way past Merlin stalking toward the council room.

As they walked down the hall fellow servants gave Merlin questioning and sympathising looks, while Arthur mumbled something about him being "useless" and "incompetent".

Two hours into the political proceedings, Merlin couldn't help but stifle a yawn as he swayed on his feet.

It was a strange day. Arthur was exhausted and therefore short-tempered and much too serious than usual, not to mention his snapping at poor Gregory, who was also late for the meeting. This behaviour was indeed out of the ordinary as even the King gave him a look of discomfort. Gregory seemed quieter than usual, which might have had something to do with the way Arthur kept glaring at him.

And to top it all off, Merlin had a headache and could feel his stomach craving food, as he had to take care of Gaius' leech-tank instead of taking breakfast this morning.

Maybe he could ask Gwen for some fruit, she always had the best apples… _very much like the one Arthur kept rolling in his hand_.

Merlin frowned.

A strange day indeed…

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_**AN: I'm sorry for the long wait. Let me know what you think…**_


	4. Chapter 4

h t t p . / / w w w . y o u t u b e . c o m / w a t c h ? v = U 2 8 W _ T y J U h Q

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**10 SIGNS OF UNREQUITED LOVE**

**4.**

_**Blushing**_

**o0o0o**

When the harvest season came every farmer in Camelot was required to help with the seasonal picking. Farmers paid fewer taxes than nobility or say the butcher, who always had plenty of buyers, summer as well as winter. Instead, their aid was required when the castle servants gathered supplies for the royal family in preparation for the upcoming winter season. Despite the harvest feast belonging to the Ancient times and pagan beliefs, as gratitude for their services the king nevertheless arranged a harvest feast for his people on one of the last days in the August month. Some of the folk, who secretly still held their pagan beliefs as in the Ancient times, would offer fruits of the harvest to their gods in gratitude.

Now that the Christian Church replaced most of the pagan customs with ceremonies to honour Christian faith in one almighty God, the harvest feasts were more of a strategic move on the nobles' behalf in order to appease their vassals without actually paying them anything, thus the grudging bishop in the chapel could say little on the matter.

Guinevere, a Christian herself, was of an open mind and never minded other people with other beliefs. It wasn't that she considered faith in God insignificant, not at all, but instead of keeping a blind eye on other ways of worship she found herself rather interested in Ancient and new beliefs of foreign nature – after all Christianity was such a young religion compared with the wisdom of the heathen healers still vital for the local physicians. She knew that religion had little to do with the matter; for her and her friends this season marked a time of preparing for the future and of gathering in the fruits of harvest against the winter ahead. Summer was coming to an end and local folk would use this opportunity to reflect on the past and celebrate nature's bounty.

As she sat with other young maidens of Camelot on the bouncing Hock Cart filled with the last grain cut, Gwen marvelled at the festive carefree mood among the people. The wagons were taken to the garner on the outskirt of one of the fields, closer to town, where the dancing was to be held. People accompanied the cart with singing, youngsters playing on flutes and pipes until joined by musicians (sent with compliments from the king).

Tunes of viol, psalteries, cymbals and tambourines could be heard throughout the entire lower town, reaching the very walls of Camelot Castle, where curious nobles kept trying to sneak a peek of the joyous dancing commoners.

Clapping along the rhythm Gwen remembered previous years when she kept laughing at her father's poor attempts at dancing. Somewhat melancholy but determined to have a good time for her father as well she joined the circle, her light skirt-train tied up by the hip.

A jig was always fun: right toe out in front, right foot step, feet together, toe up to the knee and a little hop. Then the dancers in the circle swung their right legs back with a hop in place on the left foot. Right foot back on ground behind the left one. Three little steps in place behind you, and the circle repeated these movements as the lutes and drums played the beat.

The dance came to an end and participants thanked the musicians. Taking this as her opportunity Muriel, one of the seamstresses in town came to stand next to Gwen. Same age as the lady Morgana's maid, this particular girl was notoriously known as the local gossip, constantly whispering into ears. While dancing she noticed how Rulf, the butcher's son, kept throwing looks in their direction. Herself already with a sweetheart of her own and with a kind heart by nature this attention paid to her friend awoke in Muriel nothing but curiosity and excitement of news. "He's lookin' at ya, Gwen".

Startled, Guinevere turned to see her old childhood playmate smiling at her in conspiracy. The girls were fortunate to have had good parents both of them, and thus got to know one another when the families arranged a futile number of tutoring lessons for their children, so the girls and boys could at least read and write the simplest of letters. Gwen was never one for gossip and with no common interest soon enough the girls were separated as Gwen took up service in the castle, while Muriel got employment in her uncle's shop.

Smiling and feeling all the more nostalgic Guinevere decided to humour her friend, making an exception this one time she whispered back: "Who are you talking about?"

Muriel snorted, rolling her eyes in the brown haired boy's direction: "Rulf of course, are you that blind?"

Upon a closer look Gwen did indeed see that the young man was glancing in their direction while talking to some friends.

Muriel rolled her eyes again. "Really, Gwen. You're 'bout to turn seventeen years of age, and ye' show no concern 'bout ye future!"

"Well, I just haven't found my path yet." She looked down confused, thinking about her father and how his death put an end to her plans of seeking employment as a seamstress herself, should her services no longer be required or Morgana left.

"Path? Wha' path? You need to find yourself a hubby!"

"A what?"

"A husband."

"Oh. Well I guess I haven't met the right man."

"Wha' sor' of man is tha'?"

"Well, how do you feel about Peter?"

Musicians were now tuning their instruments, and the Bransle Charlotte was announced as the next dance.

"Wha' does tha' have to do with anythin'? Peter's my cousin and when his father dies we'll own the shop. It's practical."

"I want more than practical, Muriel." The music started playing and a confused Muriel could do nothing but take Gwen's hand and start dancing.

The Bransle Charlotte was one of Gwen's favourite country-dances because it went so fast, and the beat was so strong. The couples made out two big circles each following the same routine of steps:

_Double step to the left, kick left, kick right, double right. Repeat._

_Double step to the left, kick left, kick right, single right, kick left right left._

_Single left, kick right left right, double step right. _

The circles moved and split into smaller ones until they were left in couples spinning and kicking and jumping. Guinevere and Muriel were laughing so hard they forgot all about Rulf, who in the meantime managed to slip and trip over a married woman starting a row with her husband. You could still hear the drums and the viol but laughter was getting louder and louder. Couples now spinning forgot all about the rhythm, which caused poor Muriel to trip over the hem of her yellow dress and let go of her partner's hands.

Safe to say Gwen tripped over her own feet and flew in the opposite direction, nearly colliding with a tree. However, instead of a hard trunk she felt her head bounce on something warm and relatively softer, though it still hurt when the top of her head hit something pointy. What frightened her was the groan of pain she heard from underneath her.

Somewhat dazed after her fall Guinevere tried to push herself off the ground with her hands.

"Ouch."

Startled she looked up and felt her heart stop.

There underneath her, the Prince of Camelot was rubbing his chin!

He looked down at her surprised, but didn't say anything. Horrified Gwen noticed her hands clutching onto his forearm and shoulder, instead of the _supposed_ ground. She tried to get up, _really_, but she just couldn't find the right angle, what with the right side of her body pressing on top of him. Finally rationalising that she had her left knee available, she rolled over and sat up. Too embarrassed to look at him, begging all that is holy for the ground to open and swallow her, she shook her head trying to get his warmth and grass off of her.

"My god. I am so sorry, your highness." Finally she detected a movement and saw him getting back up onto his feet.

"Well –"

"Please forgive me."

"Yes well, I suspect that it was not in your intention to tackle somebody down, Gwen. After all this wasn't a dance with much contact."

"Oh no! I didn't want to have contact with anybody! _Least_ of all _you_, sire!" She looked up, now even more embarrassed at the insult she just threw at her royal victim. "Not that I minded lying on top of y…" He chuckled. She blushed. "_Falling_ on top of you… falling _on_ you! " she went on trying to find the right phrase. "_You are quite _comfortable, my lord." She emphasised the final version of her ramblings, trying to then amend it upon hearing him now straight out laughing at her: "I mean… what I meant to say was –"

"Guinevere."

With a pleading expression she looked at him, her face completely red.

"It's alright. No harm done. Really."

"Sorry again, my lord."

Arthur looked her over, and she wondered whether he liked her new dress… before she reprimanded her own stupidity. He was the prince, why would he care about her stupid dresses. More importantly, since when had _she_ cared about what he was thinking?

Arthur seemed to be staring at her bare ankles and her tied up skirt before suddenly looking down at his own shirt. He noticed there a purple flower. "I believe that's yours."

He returned the flower almost reluctantly.

She smiled not noticing the way he wanted to hold on to the blossom. "Yes, not quite your colour, sire." He laughed, which rather pleased her.

Guinevere liked this new Arthur. After their "field trip" to Ealdor they had become more than merely acquaintances by chance. He was always polite in the past, well whenever he wasn't being a _clod_ at least. Now, he was being kind and friendly. Sometimes he turned quite pensive in her company and she suspected that it had something to do with guilt maybe for what happened to her father. What more reasons would he have to contemplate her?

She found herself blushing again, not really knowing why. Perhaps because she was thinking ludicrous that the heir of king Uther had nothing better to do then going around the castle thinking about simple maids and their relatives.

She looked up and noticed his expression turning into a teasing one. Now she was blushing simply because he saw her blushing.

Instead of waiting for one of his predictable arrogant comments Gwen took charge and started a conversation: "Were you looking for Merlin, my lord?"

He looked down and cleared he throat. "Ehm, no. I was actually on my to the chapel."

"Oh?"

"Father wanted to ensure the old bishop hadn't torn down the entire altar fuming." Guinevere giggled and nodded her head in understanding to his eye rolling. The bishop was a conservative old man, kind but extremely traditional. Once a lady suggested a new colour for the flowers planted in the churchyard, safe to say those plans never came to fruition as apparently red and purple were the colours of the church and thus "ordained by God".

"I shouldn't have been standing so close, so it was my fault really."

Gwen looked up surprised to hear Arthur being so humble, and noticed a slight blush of his own covering pale cheeks.

She must have been staring because he suddenly straightened out and looked away again. "Well, I shall detain you no longer." And with that he took his leave, striding with determined steps in the direction of the church before the maid had time to curtsey.

Confused at the sudden departing Guinevere was left standing on her own beneath the old oak tree. She tilted her head staring at the flower in her hands, mind elsewhere.

"Wha' was tha' about?" Muriel sneaked up behind her. "You're blushing!"

Gwen's head snapped up. "What? No, I'm not."

"Yea, you are!" Muriel looked behind the oak tree towards the churchyard. "And was tha' Prince Arthur you were just talkin' to?"

Guinevere whipped her head around and ignored that comment. Her friend never one to be ignored came slinging after her through the crowd of people now eating and drinking. "It was, wasn't it? What was he doin' 'ere, and withou' 'is usual guard?"

"I don't know."

"Well, why was 'e here watching us dance?"

"Who said he was?"

"Well, why else would 'e stand so close by riskin' bein' tackled down?" At this Gwen stopped. "Gwen?"

"I don't know! He was curious I suppose."

"Tha' must have been awkward."

"It was. So can we stop talking about it now?"

" 'Course, if it makes you uncomfortable…"

"Thank you."

Taking a cup of ale Guinevere tried to focus on anything other than Muriel's inquiring look. No matter how hard she tried she still couldn't get that blush off her cheeks. It felt horrible. She was used to stumble over words, and people thinking her shy, she was used to being ignored and would much rather prefer that over this. Sure she's felt flushed sometimes when Merlin first arrived, or when noble Lancelot came sweeping through the fields of Camelot, but never has she felt like she was burning up. It was ridiculous. She didn't even know why this was happening…

Although the feel of a masculine body, especially _such_ as his, pressed against her own for the very first time in her life may have had _something_ to do with it.

"Why did 'e give you a flower?"

Gwen glared at her companion. "He didn't give me a flower, he returned it to me after it fell from my hair."

"Oh."

Muriel's disappointed tone came as a comfort as it meant she was losing interest in this topic. "Well, while you may not be as lucky as to snatch yourself a prince, you might be lucky enough to get yourself a butcher." Gwen looked up and noticed Rulf approaching them. "See ya later…"

"Wait, Muriel –" but the coquette was already gone.

"Hi, Gwen."

"Hi, Rulf." She smiled politely, sighing inside.

"I thought you might like some water", he said handling her a cup, "you looked rather flushed." Gwen looked up. "Although you seem better now", he reassured her.

"Thank you. It was just the dancing."

While she was relieved that the inconvenient redness left her cheeks, she felt somewhat unsettled as to why it was so easily provoked around the prince as of lately. Whether or not her blush was caused by the heat or the awkward situation, Guinevere knew she had to avoid all contact with Arthur both out of propriety and practical reasons.

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**_AN: _****_Thanks for reading and let me know what you think._**

*I'd really like to hear whose POV you readers prefer for future chapters, more from Gwen's perspective or Arthur's or a variation of both?

*I'd advise you to listen to the music link I posted on top of the page, as it is the music I imagined myself while I describing the dancing scene.

*Someone asked me how many chapters this story will be and where I plan to take it: This story takes place between the ending of season 1, then goes through the autumn and winter months till we reach March and episode 2x01. I may also write a scene taking place between episodes 2x01 and 2x02.

Music link: h t t p : / / w w w . y o u t u b e . c o m / w a t c h ? v = U 2 8 W _ T y J U h Q


	5. Chapter 5

**10 SIGNS OF UNREQUITED LOVE**

**5.**

_**Impressing**_

**o0o0o**

"My sweet girl, ye have my gratitude."

"'Tis no trouble at all."

"God bless ye."

With the brown cloak wrapped tightly around her, the elderly Hilda rushed out into the storm through the tavern door.

Rainy weather such as this late night was common in these parts of Albien – it was a sign of winter approaching. Gwen could hear the wind sweeping through the streets of the lower town as she with great effort shut the door, hoping that Hilda would safely reach her home.

When Hilda's son knocked on her door tonight, Guinevere was just about to sit down for a warm supper in front of her humble hearth. Morgana let her go earlier than expected so she could make it all the way home safely. But as luck would have it, her help was needed and it was not in Gwen's nature to turn down a friend in need for selfish reasons, especially an old friend of her father's.

Hilda was a widow to a fallen foot soldier, left with two sons and three daughters, most of the children still too young to stay at home on their own on such a night. She ran the local tavern together with her eldest son, who served as a protector. He was a good man, and though he lacked men's usual weakness for drink, he had no head for money and profit. Hence when Hilda's youngest girl fell sick with fever she could not possibly have left a tavern full of people in the hands of her son without supervision – they'd be robbed, the thieves walking through the front door. Sigbert was a good muscle, but lacked the brains.

Knowing that she would be safe with the two hundred and twenty pound man by her side Gwen hurried to the tavern, reassuring Hilda that all would be well.

She wiped her hands dry on her apron turning back to the sight before her.

Honourable they may be, but as were they loud. Sir Leon and Sir Borin brought the new recruits for a celebratory drink and now they were in the middle of a set of arm-wrestling.

"Come on then, lad!" Borin gulped down another sip of ale. "Ye manage to stay alive æfter combat with Arthur, yet lose a meagre wager!"

Smiling she shook her head and went back to the counter. Sigbert was somewhere in the back rearranging firewood and overall this stormy night was going rather smoothly. Gwen's only worry was the little feverish girl as one of the new knights all of a sudden decided to include her in their conversation (if one could call unintelligent shouting a conversation):

"Hoy!"

She looked up.

"I wonder, fair _maiden_, might ye know what hangs at a man's legs and wants to poke the hole it's often poked before?"

Turning red Guinevere looked down and wished she was more selfish a person. If she had stayed home she would not be turning into a ripe tomato now.

"Let the girl be, son." Borin clapped the recruit on his shoulder. "That'd be our Gwen - as innocent as the babe my wife bore me last spring."

"The answer was as pure as her then – a key!" One of the knights was laughing so hard he well off his chair, 3 more following his suit.

"Have you been saving her for someone special?" said one.

"King Lot himself mayhap?" another contributed.

This was not her first visit to the local tavern, and recital of lewd jokes was one of the symptoms, she recognised, following inebriation.

Looking up she saw that Leon, who was still moderately sober, tried steering his new protégés back home. "Your aid would be most welcome, Gwen," he suggested struggling. She could barely keep her laughter down when the door banged open and a guard from the castle stepped inside.

He surveyed the tavern. "Sir Borin, Sir Leon. You are to take the new recruits and secure the citadel before the last shift, orders from the Prince." The guard took a second look at the new knights, all lying lined up on the floor. He snorted: "I'd waste no time were I you, my lord."

Leon smirked: "Two of us still standing on our feet, I think we shall manage." Which was when Sir Borin hit the tavern floor with a thud.

Gwen looked at him sceptically: "In deed?"

Even with Gwen's help they could not sober up Sir Borin, and the recruits were far beyond redemption, sleeping soundly on the floor embracing their jugs.

"Arthur will have me flogged." Leon slumped down on the bench.

Trying to step around limbs on the floor, Gwen stumbled a few times. "No he will not. The one suggesting this excursion is responsible. Whose idea was it?"

He looked over at the girl whose mother helped raising him a lifetime ago. "Mine…"

"Oh." She sighed. "He will have ye flogged," agreeing she joined him on the bench. Such familiarity between a knight and a maid was not unheard of yet nor was it proper. But, knowing one another for as long as they had certain liberties came as a consequence by nature. When among friends and not at court Gwen rarely used his title and he wouldn't dream of asking her to.

"Most humiliating too, as I am six years his senior!"

Gwen winced, remembering all the times poor Merlin had to endure the stocks. "Well, he won't be doing the actual flogging himself…"

Leon glared: "Thank you, Gwen, for that _reassurance_." If possible his shoulders slumped lower than before and Guinevere could not stand seeing her childhood companion in such a state.

Looking around she noticed that apart from the unconscious knights lying on the floor there were no more customers. She stood up and took the tempting pitcher of ale with her away from the desolate knight.

When she returned with her cloak already in hand sir Leon was still in the same position on his bench.

"Come along then, we have no time to waste."

Leaving a closed up tavern in Sigbert's care seemed safe to Gwen, who decided to take sir Borin's place and help Leon going through the mile long citadel wall. He would have deserved a punishment for an evening spent so recklessly, and Guinevere would not find it too harsh at all on the Prince's behalf if Leon were to suffer same fate as Merlin had. In fact Arthur's verdict would be a fair consequence.

Still, Leon was a friend and everyone made mistakes once in a while. For all that she knew she was making one right now, helping her friend to cover up his tracks. But such was her nature.

**o0o0o**

The tower clock struck midnight just as the two of them reached the bridge. Leon hurried over to the guards, leaving the keys in their care. It had been quite a night, Gwen reflected as she made her way back to her cottage, her feet drenching wet, her legs aching.

It had taken then over three full hours to go through each passage; Leon secured the bindings while Gwen changed the torches. The stone passages were slippery, which was as Leon expected quite an obstacle for Guinevere in her slippers. She had fallen four times, bruises now covering both her elbows, a shoulder and a thigh. The once yellow dress, was now of a dirty grey shade, water dripping from the hem. Leon did not fare that much better despite his gear. The red cloak he was wearing had gotten stuck in one of the burnt out torches, the metal tearing quite a hole in the red fabric.

When she got home, Guinevere leaned on her door enjoying this moment of serenity. Yet, slipping out of her wet clothes and drying her hair she felt lonelier than ever. She had nobody waiting for her, nobody to keep the fire going and the food warm.

She was a simple young woman used to solitude, and grateful for the roof over her head; she had friends, best of friends. But they were not here. Gwen knew that despite living in a castle Morgana could relate to this loneliness, but at least her mistress had a warm fire waiting for her in her chambers. Merlin had Gaius and she knew how much time him and Arthur spent together, neither of them willing to admit that their bond was by now far beyond that of duty and servitude.

Guinevere took off her wet cloak and hung Leon's red one up for drying. Always one to help a friend she had offered to mend the hole for him and return it by the end of the following day. It was the least she could do, considering all the times in the past with him saving her and the rest of the staff when bandits or monsters had paid Camelot their annual visit.

Taking a bit of her cold chicken and breaking a small piece of the bread Gwen felt how even though she had no wish to live inside the castle, she did wish she was closer to Morgana and her friends from the kitchens. She wished she were closer to life.

Too tired to do much else she slipped into her humble bed and watched how the last glow of fire died out in the hearth. The thought of a little girl, who was now feeling better, and her concerned mother sleeping next to her child, kept Guinevere warm at night. In her dreams she remembered the harvest feast and what Muriel had said about finding somebody who would relieve her of her burdens, creating a new life together. Neither could she forget the prince's warm body pressed against her own that fatal day. Guinevere knew she wanted more than "settling"; she wanted somebody with warmth like his enveloping her cold winter nights. She wanted companionship and understanding. She could even live without passion, and she could live without finding her true love, but she would not settle for anything less than _that warmth_.

**o0o0o**

Common folk would depict medieval knights as brutes who slugged their swords out tactlessly, but such was not the case. The knights had technique and their methods were not boorish. From an early age the young fighters were taught how to artfully duck, dodge and the art of graceful footwork. The boys were taught a set of different styles of fighting depending on the combat and the weapons allowed. The actual sparring did look crude to ignorant people, but those who chose to take time and decipher the style could perceive and admire the technique.

Arthur himself preferred close combat on feet with a sword in his hands. Since he was five years old the prince was taught how to wield his sword, how to cut and thrust both with a shield and without. You could say that the single-handed, double-edged, cross-hilted sword in his hand remained his constant companion throughout his life till the present. As he stood on the training field observing his new recruits, the prince couldn't help wrinkling his nose. Surely, this wasn't what he had taught them? Surely, these were not the same men he knighted two days ago?

Shaking his head he turned to observe his archers practice. The yeomen serving as longbow archers were out practicing on one of the distant fields under Sir Ulric's supervision, but the archers trained to shoot closer targets were right in front of Arthur, sweating under the afternoon sun. Now there was something to be proud of. It was now time to end their suffering and give Camelot's new _so-called_ "knights" a piece of his mind.

He was about to call it a day, when he saw a flash of green. And indeed there was Guinevere, gracing the training field with her humble appearance. He had by now given up on trying to decipher his surprise and excitement at her presence and chosen to accept the importance her companionship represented to him.

It wasn't anything out of the ordinary for her to be standing and chatting with Sir Leon. Everyone liked Gwen, which included most of his already established knights. They couldn't simply use and discard of her as they did with other pretty Deys* as Guinevere remained under lady Morgana's protection while growing up, and now unbeknownst to anybody (even himself), Arthur would cut the throat of any man trying to "insult" his … _friend_. She tended to him when he was dying, that ought to count for something!

What he did not expect to see however was her giving Leon a clean freshly pressed red cloak. And certainly not her shy tender smile as the knight kissed her hand in gratitude. This confused Arthur. He had learnt some time ago that Guinevere's late mother worked in sir Leon's family household. But surely that did not explain the bearing of gifts and the hand kissing? Not that he cared, the prince tried to convince himself. Just like he didn't much mind Merlin's close friendship with Morgana, he didn't care about this.

Despite these reassurances Arthur found himself stalking over to the opposite edge of the field shouting: "Take a break!" instead of letting his fellow men go home.

Amidst the groans of painful disappointment and the bell clock striking five Guinevere was laughing at something Sir Leon was vigorously describing. Arthur approached them, his eyes flickering between the two faces. Apparently his second in command was much too busy imitating some story to notice the prince stand next to him.

"'Nay!' she said again. 'Could I at least sleep in your stable?' asked the man, 'Nay!' by this time she was fairly shouting", Leon was now playing out some scene with Guinevere smiling.

"The vagabond said: 'Might I please…?' 'What now?' the woman interrupted impatiently. 'D'ye suppose,' he asked, 'I might have a word with Gavin?'"

What surprised Arthur was not the ridiculous grin on Sir Leon's face, but rather how the story made this young maiden in green laugh. Everyone knew Leon's jokes were the worst.

He's seen her smile and giggle, but now she was straight out laughing. Though safe to say her spontaneity shortly ended as she noticed the prince standing next to Leon with a strange look upon his face. As was the usual case with Guinevere whenever around nobility, she composed herself covering her yet present smile with her dainty hand.

"Your highness," she curtseyed in greeting.

Leon turned around surprised, "my lord."

"May be I am interrupting?" Arthur said sarcastically.

"Nay, my lord. Beg your pardon for my distraction. I was merely thanking lady Morga-"

"I know who she is, thank you," Arthur interrupted, surprising himself.

"Well, Gwen was of great help last night, she mended my cloak."

Smiling she shook her head in reply: "'Tis nothing, I often help the seamstresses to mend the knights' cloth as it is."

Arthur's face now that of utter disdain, he couldn't help the rise in him at their blatant familiarity. It was as if neither of them cared that their prince was standing right there. These two were almost worse than Merlin, _almost…_

"Speaking of last night!"

Guinevere flinched at Arthur's severe tone and looked down, hoping that Sir Leon survived the prince's wrath. She has seen Arthur angry on several occasions in the past but this time there was something about his countenance that showed traces of great annoyance.

"Mayhap, Sir Leon, you could explain to me what had happened to my recruits, who overnight seem to have turned from knights to pathetic sobs! For Christ's sake, look at them, they look paler than a nun's arse!" He would have continued were it not for the soft sound of her giggle. Arthur remembered that they were in the presence of, if not a lady then a gentle young woman, who he for some reason wished would remain with an innocent mind of a maiden for quite some time yet. Looking over at Guinevere he noticed how instead of being offended she was struggling to hold back a smile. As he thought to return to his scolding, instead of feeling angry Arthur felt rather pleased for some reason.

Sir Leon turned to look at Morgana's maid and seemed to be as surprised as Arthur was. Who would have thought that kind sweet Gwen would find Arthur's rather inappropriate humour so charming? And, was that a blush upon her cheeks?

"Really Leon, what have ye done to them?"

"Nothing, sire, Sir Borin and I merely wanted to show them the local tavern."

"Ah, I see." Arthur took off one of his gauntlets and threw it on the ground next to Leon's feet.

Startled Guinevere looked up her smile vanished.

"Well, it would seem 'tis left up to me to show them what a proper fight looks like!"

Humbled Sir Leon picked up the royal gauntlet before Arthur snatched it back, striding towards the field.

The recruits assembled to observe the combat.

In the middle of the sword-fight Arthur caught himself wondering whether or not Guinevere was still watching them. He knew he could not look away from his opponent least he be made to look like a fool not only in front of the maiden but also the rest of his men. The prince did not like how his thoughts kept straying into the same direction, but this foreign urge to impress her seemed to result in more energy and flawless footwork, so he dared not wishing them away. Besides, when on the field Arthur was always honest with himself, it was his time for meditation, and there was no point denying his interest in Guinevere to himself.

The prince did not use light techniques, every strike was made to do damage, but as this was not a real fight, defence was more important. He would sidestep, duck, dodge and slip, backing this up with various parries and blocks. The problem with this tactic was that Sir Leon deflected each one of his blows, rather than block it himself and catch the full force of Arthur's strikes on shield.

Arthur could not slow down his movements and he could not retreat. There was a force inside of him that drove him to attack over and over again. It was as if he had to prove something to someone. The prince's right arm yet weaker than it once was after the Questing Beast's poison had circled its veins. And as Arthur could no longer resist temptation, sneaking a peek at Guinevere, who indeed was still present, Leon stroke at the prince's right shoulder blade and dislocated the exhausted muscle.

Shocked at the sound of pain Sir Leon hesitated in his movements and in the blink of an eye found himself lying on his back with the tip of Arthur's sword pressed against his chest.

"Now," the prince turned to the gaping recruits, "when ye can do this, ye can have as many barrels of ale as ye please." Rather pleased with himself Arthur did not notice how the defeated Sir Leon, Sir Erec, Sir Borin and the rest of his men were staring at his right arm.

What he did see as he turned around was Guinevere hurrying across the field, holding up the hem of her dress not to trip.

"My lord!" Sir Erec followed her suit.

Surprised to see her reaching out to touch him so publicly Arthur considered that ounce of pain he felt earlier was worth it: "Ah!", until his _dislocated _shoulder reminded him that it was not.

Guinevere was indeed touching his shoulder, but the pain was too great to feel anything, let alone her gentle touch. Shocked he fell onto his knees with Guinevere clutching his side, trying to hold him up and prevent his armour to do further damage to his limbs.

"I am sorry, your highness." She stared into his blue eyes before looking up at Sir Borin. "I cannot put this right, the armour is in the way and I lack the experience."

"Guinevere!" All five of them looked over to the frowning housekeeper waiting for Gwen near the castle wall.

"You go, Gwen. Ye must not forsake your duties." Sir Borin nodded towards the maid. "We will take him to the physician."

Arthur kept looking at Guinevere and noticed how she rather reluctantly let go of his limp limb. "I hope you feel well soon, my lord."

With a curtsey and a last wincing glance at his arm, she was gone.

Leon nodded. "Right. Come along, Arthur." Together with Borin and Erec, Leon guided the prince to Gaius' rooms.

Safe to say the physician's touch was not that of gentle Gwen's, as he tried to put the royal shoulder back into its place.

o

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**_AN: Thanks for reading. You can read the full version of the joke Sir Leon was telling Gwen below:_**

**_Poor Vagabond_**

A poor vagabond, traveling a country road in England, tired and hungry, came to a roadside Inn with a sign reading: "Gavin and the Dragon."

He knocked gently on the door.

The Innkeeper's wife stuck her head out a window.

"Could ye spare some victuals?" he asked politely.

The woman glanced at his shabby clothes and obviously poor condition. "No!" she said rather sternly.

"Could I just have a pint of ale?"

"No!" she said again.

"Could I at least sleep in your stable?"

"No!" by this time she was fairly shouting.

The vagabond said, "Might I please...?"

"What now?" the woman interrupted impatiently.

"D'ye suppose," he asked, "I might have a word with Gavin?"


	6. Chapter 6

**10 SIGNS OF UNREQUITED LOVE**

**6.**

_**Rumours and Humility**_

**o0o0o**

Yule time.

"Hmm, no. This was the colour chosen last year and it all turned out quite plain."

"But m'lady, it is the colour chosen _every year_…"

Sighing Morgana touched the fabric, only to have her suspicions confirmed. The red linen looked good from a distance but once the considerable light of candles lit up the room and the courtiers were seated at the banquet table, the flaws of the red tablecloth would be plain for the viewing.

Thankfully, Gwen returned to the hall, her timing always impeccable, and Morgana felt somewhat better. She needed to vent out her frustrations to somebody, somebody who would listen – a criteria that immediately excluded Arthur from suitable candidates. Glancing over at her foster sibling, all preoccupied with reports, lists and provision orders, she couldn't help rolling her eyes at his frowning concentration. _Always the good son_, he had his moments of disobedience, yet so far more often than not he followed orders. Lately something distanced her from Camelot's Crown Prince, a feeling of apprehension.

Exhausted and bored, the lady approached her handmaiden, while the merchant standing in the hall put forward some further choices for his royal customer. Her station as the King's ward and something of a first lady of Camelot until either the king or the prince married, put her in charge of the decorations of the upcoming Yule feast. The constant fear of somebody discovering her supernatural abilities, followed by heavy sleep depravation, turned every day under Uther's roof into a trial; a never-ending torture. Despite her hope for the better, the King did not change; as soon as the word magic was uttered, the executioner was called upon.

During the desolate nights she kept poor Gwen by her side and now her maid was practically living in the castle. Every night they followed a routine: Gwen would try to brighten her spirits with flowers, bid her good night, then she would wake up screaming and clutching for her friend, who of course came rushing in. Morgana would lie in her arms for hours until dawn came along and she fell asleep out of pure exhaustion. As she woke up near noon, the cycle continued with Gwen bringing her yet another flower arrangement with colourful blossom. She of course, could sleep in every morning and then do absolutely nothing the rest of the day, whereas Guinevere, she knew, worked and put in effort every hour for years from six on the morrow till midnight. The somewhat younger girl resembled something of a cousin, and Morgana took it upon herself to keep her safe. Her protection saved Gwen from following the trend as another disposable notch on the knights' bedposts, or yet another victim of Uther's. And now that she was left all alone after Tom had been murdered at Uther's command, the two young women were closer than ever, despite Morgana's occasional snapping and bitter mood lately.

Reminded of her tyrannical guardian, Morgana felt a wave of anger welling up inside her. She snatched the already filled wine goblet from the offered tray in Gwen's hands and swallowed it down as if a cup of water. The burning bitter sweetness warmed up and soothed her insides, humbling her traitorous thoughts conspiring against her guardian. Ignoring Gwen's astonished look, she filled up yet another portion, welcoming the buzzing feeling.

"A bit early, don't you think?" Morgana startled. Turning to her left she saw that Arthur was standing next to her maid, a matching look of surprise set on his facial features, albeit his was not without amused scorn.

The prince took the wine offered to him by her handmaiden, thanking her with a smile. "Finally realised how uneventful your simplistic life truly is?" he said, once again resuming his seat by the table. "I told you that brushing your hair all day long is not an engaging occupation." Morgana narrowed her eyes. "I would have thought that having finally something to do would brighten your spirits and you'd stop being such a shrew."

She smiled wryly: "Rather a shrew than blunt _tool_", satisfied by the glare he granted her.

Standing awkwardly in between the prince and King Uther's ward, Harold the merchant cleared his throat. "Mayhap this will be more to ye liking, m'lady?"

"Don't count on it."

Ignoring Arthur's sarcastic muttering, she took a step closer to look closer at the offered fabric. The same red again only this time charmeuse!

"Ugh! Why must it be red?" she exclaimed, startling poor Harold and spilling some of her wine as she swung her right arm. "Green is a colour just as suitable, and purple even grumbling old Bishop would approve of, yet here we are, twenty years have gone by and it's red year after year." Draining the last remains of her drink, she swayed on her feet and almost slammed the goblet back on the table. Composing herself and ignoring Gwen's sprint to her side, Morgana ignored the buzzing in her head and approached the lined up rolls of fabric leaned against the wall.

"This! This is perfect!" Clutching deep violet muslin, she dragged it across the hall and grabbed Gwen's hand, free now that she's settled the brick with the wine flagon on the wooden table next to her mistress's discarded chalice. "Here Gwen! Feel it. _You _must agree with me, purple, violet, lilac… you name it, are your favourite colours."

Standing awkwardly, uncomfortable with the sudden attention, Guinevere glanced at the room's occupants: two guards, two servants, a merchant and a prince. "My lady…"

"No use denying it, I know them to be!"

"Indeed," she tried again uneasy to reveal this personal preference of hers, "you know me well, yet red is more traditional and it is a most flattering colour on you."

"If it were red in general depiction Gwen, I would not mind; burgundy is indeed a wonderful setting against my complexion. But this is _Pendragon_ red." She scoffed and filled up yet another portion of the Cyprian wine, not willing for the buzz to subside.

Arthur frowned at her.

"What's wrong with Pendragon red?" He shifted behind his desk, clearing his throat as he straightened up. "It's a regal and superior colour."

"It's plain and unpractical. Speaking of, hasn't it crossed you mind that it's also quite easy to spot? You wear your cloaks everywhere: the hunt, the woods, during patrol in the night…"

"It aids us to spot our men."

"Mm, yes, you and everyone else, including your enemies."

Arthur sighed, clearly tired of bickering with her. He looked back down focusing on his papers. "Whatever you say Morgana, you know that it _being_ Pendragon red is exactly the reason why you have no other choice. If you choose so much as another shade of crimson, father will step in and change it anyway. He's really just humouring you with this, so called, _planning_."

Knowing him to be right in this case, Morgana nodded to the merchant who immediately went to measure out the fabric, ordered annually.

Once again Arthur's clueless insensitivity voiced every doubt she's been hiding within herself. Her life was meaningless; her hand in marriage would no doubt be exchanged for a piece of land. While Gwen, Merlin and Arthur had a list of duties every single day, she wandered around aimlessly about the castle, and while they had dreams she had nightmares. Her council ignored, her wishes humoured like a little girl's.

Gwen knew all this of course and noticed her mistress's internal struggle.

The curly brunette frowned at the prince, now absorbed in a list of provision supplies, gathered by the council chairman. It was a well-known fact at court that the old Baron of Dumnonia doted on Uther's son, always praising the Prince as pride of the nation – a perfect warrior embodied in a handsome figure of a tall and strong young man. Guinevere suspected quite accurately that on the margins of the said report, written down with immaculate handwriting there were deserved _and undeserved_ compliments, offerings of gifts and daughters as brides _or_ mistresses, and no doubt a note postscript about an upcoming hunt. It was offerings such as these that constantly brought out the prince's arrogant side. The noble side that she kept getting short fleeting glimpses of, in Ealdor and just now when he humbly asked and thanked her for some wine, was simply overshadowed by arrogance in moments such as this. Guinevere suspected that Merlin would have to remain Arthur's servant till his dying days, if only just to remind the future king of his oftentimes-conceited ways. She sincerely wished, but doubted, that his future queen would be different – only hoping that the said perspective lady would have a kind and compassionate heart if a somewhat overbearing nature derived from being doubtlessly doted upon while growing up.

"Perhaps, my lady, you could take some of the burgundy for yourself? I could make a dress or a new counterpane for your bed?"

Morgana smiled as she was reminded of when Gwen first came into her service: a short, tiny, skinny little thing with a mass of curls. Then still just a maid in training, it was Morgana's nurse that took care of most of the boudoir procedures, while the little brunette stood humbly in a corner watching and learning. She remembered feeling such joy at acquiring true female companionship, finally. All the courtly ladies were much too old and their daughters lived far away, present only during some pompous ceremony or other.

And so the young lady Morgana finally found a friend in a blacksmith's daughter. Shy at first, Gwen barely spoke up, but within a year the two girls were laughing and playing around the castle, hiding in alcoves so nobody could reprimand and punish them for such inappropriate affinity between a lady and a servant.

Although Gwen had never been one for gossip, in her budding youth Morgana quite liked to dabble in tittle-tattle, secret whispering and spying, and so as a consequence her handmaiden had to follow her around while she spied on others.

On one of such occasions, they were hiding behind alcoves, watching the knights below the windows and eavesdropping on their crude words, when Morgana heard giggling followed by a familiar voice. She sneaked a peek from behind the column and saw no other than Annoying Arthur the Arse as she preferred to call him, and a somewhat older lady leaning across the stone wall. By now the prince was already seventeen, his voice deep, his figure already resembling that of a man, and so clearly Morgana realized that she was correct in assuming that the boy was no longer innocent. As she saw him smirking at the woman five years his senior for sure, her suspicions were confirmed.

"I'm so glad sir Owen has been knighted, he is young, but is clearly a sup–" the little maid noticed that her mistress was no longer paying attention to the knights below. "Morgana?"

"Schh!" Snatching Gwen's hand she pulled her closer to the column so her friend could witness the inappropriate behaviour of the blonde heir to the throne, whom she always seemed to blush around.

No words of exclamation, only a gasp and widened eyes as she observed the king's son in a lip-lock with the red-headed lady.

"See, I told you that spying has its uses."

"But my lady, ain't that Baron Howard's bride?"

Morgana nodded, now watching as the twit pulled Arthur in the direction of her chambers.

"But the wedding is in seven days?"

"No worries Gwen, all things considered, I doubt Arthur's the one to take her virtue. That ship has sailed long ago more likely." Turning around she saw her till then clueless younger friend with her gaze focusing on the stone tiled floor. "Oh come now, don't judge Arthur _too_ harshly, he's neither better _nor worse_ than any other knight."

She frowned. "_Any_ other knight?"

"I'm afraid so. You're thirteen, it's about time ye can finally witness for ye'self that there's nothing to marvel at … _Other than_ crude arrogance and a complete lack of respect for anyone and everyone, noble or common."

Despite this interlude of unfortunate circumstances and the judgmental looks that both of them had been giving Arthur for the past four years, unlike herself Guinevere never lost her youthful hope and faith in better days, better men and a maturing leader of the people of Camelot.

"I don't believe that's true for everyone, my lady", were her words.

This unyielding faith in Arthur's future abilities was quite annoying, but such was Gwen's nature she supposed. She often wondered as to her friend's choice in dire circumstances, where her loyalties would lie in a choice between loyalty to friendship or duty.

"You are right Gwen." Morgana pointed at the burgundy scroll and then at the violet one. "Please cut some of that violet muslin too." Picking up a small cut piece of the fabric she examined it next to Gwen's caramel skin. "I think it will look quite good on you."

"My lady", Gwen whispered, clearly uncomfortable by such generosity especially in presence of the prince. She doubted Merlin received such gifts.

"Cut enough fabric for a dress and a full length skirt please."

"No–"

"I will not hear of it Gwen. Your hands are magical…" Gwen's eyes widened, once again glancing apprehensively at the now attentive prince.

"Really Morgana? Perhaps a more thought-through choice words?"

Ignoring her almost sibling the lady rolled her eyes. "You're one of the best seamstresses in Camelot, and yet every thing you make you give away, whether it is a dress ordered by some lady, or a simple embroidered shirt for a neighbour. The only thing you've ever kept is the dress you're wearing now. This time I want you to do something for yourself, and I expect to see the results before spring."

"Truly–"

"It is an order, Gwen!"

Humbled but stubborn, Guinevere kept glancing around the room, its occupants clearly listening in on their loud discussion. "My lady, I am grateful, but I have all the clothing that I need," nevertheless fingering the offered fabric out of curiosity.

"Then, perhaps you would like to make something special for the butcher's son."

Guinevere dropped the cloth; her doe eyes the size of saucers. "Pardon?"

"Oh, come Gwen! I have heard the rumours."

Blushing the maid looked at the man behind the desk, as he shifted in his chair without glancing up from his papers.

"Never mind Arthur." Approving of the amount of muslin cut by the merchant Morgana whispered conspiratorially: "Tell me. Is it true?"

Shaking her head, Gwen turned around to the table trying to pick up the tray with shaky hands. "My lady, I honestly have no idea why you would think tha–"

Her sleeve caught in Morgana's discarded goblet still half full, and as it bumped into the flagon, all the wine spilled across the table. All over Arthur's reports and trousers.

Jumping out of his seat, Arthur snatched his papers away from the table, managing to save some of the most important ones. Horrified at this mess, Gwen was mortified. Her mouth gaped open at her own clumsiness and she felt like crying, of course she didn't do that in public and most certainly not in front of nobility.

"I-I am so sorry. Please, pardon me, my lord. I'll get this and your clothes cleaned right away," she rambled on distressed, already stepping closer to him as if about to snatch the stained shirt off his back this instant.

"Guine–"

Their confrontation was interrupted by Merlin, who stumbled into the hall with a tray of food in his hands. The boy observed the scene, confused and amused by the sight in front of him.

Arthur resembled a scarecrow with both of his arms stretched out sideways, reports clutched in his hands. Gwen was desperately trying to dry the soaked papers on the table, and Morgana…

Morgana surprised everyone by a fit of uncontrollable laugh, clutching at her side. Gwen looked dejected and Arthur looked offended.

Resolute Guinevere took off her white embroidered apron and dried most of the wine off the table, before she picked up the tray. "I apologize again, sire. I will be back with water and a rag, I'll clean all of this up."

Looking back at her he had barely enough time to pronounce her name: "Guinevere, w–" before the maid took off to the kitchens. His head snapped back to Morgana, who now looked after her maid in confusion. "What's wrong with _you_?" He looked her up and down and then just shook his head and slumped back in his chair. "I think it's about time you learn how to respect other people's privacy."

"That's like the pot calling the kettle black."

"She clearly didn't want you to bring up her personal life as a topic for conversation."

"That's because she is shy" replied Morgana, contemplating the matter.

Finally Merlin spoke up, for once on Arthur's side in a confrontation between the two nobles about propriety. "Gwen is the most humble and the kindest person I know."

Morgana took a seat without giving notice to his quiet remark. "Well yes of course, that is a given. And her modest nature is most amiable, yet it is obvious she has far _too much_ humility…"

Arthur scoffed from his chair: "'Tis obvious only to such a harridan as yourself, Morgana."

"… while _some_ have far _too little_ of it," the lady finished narrowing her eyes pointedly.

Arthur looked up, still not used to Morgana's unconventional "manners", or rather lack thereof, even after all these years of living under the same roof.

"I heard some maids talking about Gwen's suitor, and I believe it to be a good thing, actually. She's all alone and needs somebody to share her burdens with, she just needs a little push. Surely you agree, Merlin?"

"She's not alone. She has friends." He hesitated, "she's got you, my lady."

"And I cannot imagine being without her support, yet friends will not keep her warm on a rainy night. Won't keep the fire going till she comes home." Morgana smiled softly, "I'm almost glad that she is spending more nights at the castle, even if she gets little sleep, at least I know she's warm and safe by my side."

They exchanged a look of understanding. Both could relate to Gwen's loneliness, both hiding secrets they couldn't share with anybody, not even each other. Each felt a sort of claim on the handmaiden; she was Merlin's first friend in Camelot and Morgana's long-time companion throughout the torturous years spent within the citadel.

"You scream in the middle of the night and set the entire castle in chaos with errands run for you. That's not my definition of shelter," Arthur stood up reminding them of his presence, "and I doubt Guinevere has time to sit by the hearth, what with running between your and Gaius' chambers all night."

Merlin knew this, seeing as he was present all the times that Gwen's knocked on their door hours before dawn, her alert attitude indicating that she's been up all night. He was worried that one of these days Gwen's exhaustion would give ways and she would trip and fall in the middle of the stairs. It was a mystery to him where she got her stellar endurance.

Meanwhile, feeling guilty Morgana refrained from arguing back. She knew that Arthur spoke the truth, and was only mildly surprised that he had spoken up on her maid's behalf.

The prince stood up with the remaining papers in hand and decided to take his leave. He paused by the guards and turned to Merlin, following closely behind his master.

"You can assure Guinevere that she is not at fault. And that no punishment will follow." It was thus implied that Merlin was to remain in the hall room and help the two servants now busy cleaning up the sticky mess on the table.

Morgana was surprised at Arthur's sudden display of righteousness, as far back as she could remember he never paid much attention to Gwen, _thank the Spirits_, and all of a sudden he was lecturing her about Gwen's well-being.

"She deserves better than just _settling_, Morgana." Her head snapped up at Arthur's addressing her. "We all do." The prince added with a compassionate nod before he finally left the room.

Once again the daughter of Gorlois had to reassess Uther's son and heir. She has always known him to be a better man than his father, but in her eyes his faults were still too many. Perhaps with age and experience these flaws abated.

In that moment she felt quite proud of him; felt as if he truly was her brother. Yet at the same time, this novel amity between him and Gwen made her feel uneasy.

She didn't like it.

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**AN**: So sorry for the long wait.

There will be a total of 10 chapters.

The story will be completed during autumn.

I want to dedicate special thanks to Kohimoana for her continuing support and interest in this story. And of course Cherrytree007, Farie Insignias, LilyEvansPotter456, dreamland4, PoisoningPigeonsinthedPark **(love your username!)**, Jules, lovechild92, Lara Smith, itsamagicthing, MsNini, IamPawya, 1989Stargirl, ellabellamj, nessav123, lily forever, sally, Babybee1, NotSoSuperGirl, Nytie, karigan, Estel, Iris, robertlover, AngelBradley . now, Merlin Love92, Jena, Lisa, Natters, SamsSmiles247, Lady Atash, reader 109, Danny, Geniegal.

Thank you everyone.

**_As usual, let me know what you think …_**


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